Hateland (34 page)

    I kept my first letter brief, its tone inspired by the sympathetic social workers and probation officers who'd sometimes offered me plausible excuses for my own vile behaviour. I made Patsy overflow with warmth, goodwill and the desire to understand. Patsy said she didn't believe everything she saw in newspapers or on television about 'monsters' and 'evil people'. To her, everyone did things for a reason and everyone remained innocent until proven guilty.

    I made Patsy come across as a bit of a bubbly airhead. I mentioned, for instance, the suntan she'd got during a disappointing holiday in Spain. I also wanted him to imagine her in a bikini on holiday. No pictures of him had yet been published, so Patsy asked him to describe himself.

    Copeland wrote for the first time from Belmarsh Prison in south London on 30 May 1999. It was exactly one calendar month since his third and last bomb had torn apart the Admiral Duncan pub and its customers:

Dear Patsy,

Thank you for your letter and im sorry to hear your holiday to Spain wasn't all that, why didn't you go to Ibetha it would of been a lot better, things are a bit better hear as I have been moved out of the Madhouse and put in the HSU, this is better as there are a few more things to do such as go up to the Gym, watch telly play cards Great 'uh'. Im 5'8 23 with brown hair, blue eyes athlectic build. My mum says im Handsome but dont they all. I like music and some sports not football, my other interests are Politics and History boaring I no. Its good to see you are a 'thinker' as you pointed out some interesting points in your last letter, a thinker is someone who thinks not just believes what you hear on the T.V. so I will enjoy writing to you. My lawyer has just received all the paper work concerning my case and when I get hold of a copy Ill probably spend the next few weeks going through it all  which will be a tedeus task. Thats all for now and Ill wait until you write back.

   Dave.

Copeland's prose highlighted the failings of the British education system. His spelling was appalling. However, the content pleased me. He showed real enthusiasm for 'Patsy'. I assumed she represented the first female attention he'd had for a while.

    I wrote back immediately. I underlined Patsy's vulnerability by expressing her fear that other inmates might get hold of her address. I wanted 'Dave' to protect her. I also wanted him to keep the address - and our correspondence - secret. Following my exposure during the child-killers' trials and subsequent publicity, other prisoners had been warned off me and my letter-writing by defence lawyers and prison officials.

    An artist's sketch of Copeland had appeared in the papers: I asked him whether it offered a good likeness. I wanted him to know that Patsy, young and naive as she was, had a healthy interest in the physical.

   On 4 June, he wrote back:

Dear Patsy,

Thank you for your letter it was much needed at the time as I was in a terrible mood. You cheered me up. You do not wish to worry as your address is safe with me and no other inmates will see it, I promise. I am courious to know exactly what the tabloids have been saying about me, im pretty shore it is all bad but I would still like to know. Things ain't been to good here as I am on Health Care (Madhouse) under 24 hour servailance they say it is to keep an eye on me, but personaly I do not believe this. The drawing in the tabloids doesn't look anything like me so my lawyer says. Sorry if I am complaining to much but there is nothing to do in here but complain and wait for my Trial. This is the third letter I have written and i do not know what else to put in it so ill finish now and hope you'll write back, 

   Dave.

I hadn't got his second letter. I noted Copeland was no longer in the High Security Unit (HSU). He'd been returned to 'the Madhouse'. No doubt, his second letter had gone astray in transit. The fact that he'd written three times in less than a week compensated for its loss. I felt confident I'd hooked him. I replied swiftly, but I didn't want to bombard him with questions, nor did I want to make statements to which he just said yes.

    I hoped Patsy would make him feel relaxed, so that in time he'd open up completely and tell her what he'd done and why I wrote about her plans to go to a friend's wedding in Camberley, not far from where he'd lived in Farnborough. I hoped the location might prompt him to reminisce about his home and family.

   He replied on 7 June:

Patsy,

How are you, sorry you didn't recieve my last letter, I did send you one the same day as I recieved your last letter, it doesnt matter as I didn't say much in it anyway, I got those press cuttings so sent and the made interesting reading, so your going to a party in camberley It seems strange your friend getting married so young as your only 20 yourself, thes days not many people even bother, Patsy, your address you gave me seems strange It has no numbers, is it your work address, I don't blame you if it is, Things in hear ain't to bad most of the other inmates are OK 1 or 2 don't like me but the leave me alone, I haven't been gang raped so thats a good point, Im studying the bible at the moment, and strangly it makes very good reading, all the things which the Government run church say is the total oppersite off what God supposedly says, he says that Slavery is good, Mixed racing is bad, Queers deserve to die, black people are off mud and have no sole and are not of his creation, all this things are bad in the Government run church no wonder why he plans to wipe us out soon, are you religious, Patsy patsy could you send me a photo off yourself maybe one off you on holiday in Spain as I find it hard to write to you as you are just a letter not a face. Ill stop writing know and hope you'll write back soon.

   Dave.

God's arrival in our correspondence fazed me for a short while. I hadn't considered Copeland might be a religious, rather than Nazi, nut. Then I remembered the Bible-quoting Ku Klux Klan Nazis. But thoughts of God didn't completely fill his mind. He wanted a photo of Patsy 'on holiday in Spain', which I assumed was his way of saying, 'in a bikini, please'.

    I knew I'd have to send him a bogus photo eventually, but I planned to delay for a while. He'd have to earn it by revealing more about himself. I asked him if he'd met the disgraced former Conservative minister Jonathan Aitken, who'd also changed his address to Belmarsh Prison. I'd read that Aitken, too, had found God.

    I felt confident enough about Patsy's hold over him to ask an explicit question about his political beliefs. But I knew I had to be careful: although hooked, Copeland occasionally wriggled. His paranoia had already raised questions about Patsy's address.

   He wrote on 11 June:

Dear Patsy,

Its good to hear from you and I didn't forget about you, That Tory Aitken you asked about is in the Hospital wing so I didn't get to see him, Its just bad luck i was moved out a few days before he got here because there was alot of things about the Torys and himself I wanted to ask him, never mind, so how are you, have you lost your suntan yet the one you got when you went to spain, Im locked up most of the time and wont get a chance to sunbathe. Its good really as its bad for you and makes you age a lot sooner, I can't really Tell you much about my political beliefs 'if i have any' for one my letters are censored and anything I could write could predurdice my case (2) Im scared I could offend you and you could stop writing to me, I find it hard to write to you as all you are is a letter not a face, It would be easier if I new what you looked like so maybe you could send me in yur next letter a photograth of your self maybe one on your holiday to spain, you dont have to if you don't want to, but it will be easier to write to you, Ive been recieving some of the paperwork concerning my case so most off the time i spend going through it all, Im reading a good book at the moment its about the spanish Inquisition. Like you say it may not be that tactual but it will give you an insight into what happened, Ill stop writing now and if theres anything persific you would like to know please ask.

   Dave.

His caution in replying to my question about his political beliefs didn't surprise me. I knew he wouldn't divulge everything at once. I didn't think he had real concern about the censors: he'd already scribbled words of hatred about blacks and gays, even if he'd done so under the guise of offering Bible instruction. I could detect a bit of flirtatious games-playing - 'I'm not telling you, but . . .' He wanted to tantalise Patsy with his secrets. Yet he also feared the effect his secrets might have on her.

     I'd encountered this before in my correspondence with the child-killers. So vile were their crimes that they feared rejection from their new 'friend' if they told the whole truth. My strategy had been to convince them their new 'friend' was so open-minded and understanding that they could tell everything. While I was wondering how to get to the heart of Copeland's political background, the
Daily Mirror
provided the short cut. The paper printed a photo of Copeland taken at a BNP street demonstration in Stratford, east London.

    The party had at first denied that Copeland had ever joined them. Yet he'd been pictured close to the BNP's then leader, John Tyndall, who had a bloody nose after a brush with political opponents. In fact, Copeland had briefly been a member of the BNP. He left after finding it 'too democratic'.

     The BNP's new leader Nick Griffin wrote in the party's
Spearhead
magazine that he thought the shadowy hand of the state lay behind Copeland's bombs. His conspiracy theory suggested that the explosions had been timed to coincide with the BNP's European election campaign. The resulting carnage was to be used as the basis for a smear campaign against the party. He added:

It appears to be common knowledge among journalists that the man charged with the bomb attacks was not a loner, but a member of the political wing of the state-controlled or infiltrated Combat 18 at the time of the bombings - and a group with nothing to do with ourselves. Only poor Joe Public does not know.

In my next letter, I referred to the photo in the
Mirror
and asked Copeland if he knew Tyndall. I also asked him for his views on royalty, especially Princess Diana. I wanted to know if he admired anyone in the public eye. I returned again to his suspicions about my address: I made Patsy sound hurt, truly hurt, that he appeared not to trust her.

   He replied on 20 June:

Patsy,

How are you, Ive got all your letters now and am sorry for asking about where you live but I seem to get alot of people who are not who they say they are, you must feel angered and think I don't trust you but I ashore you I do, so how are things wear you are sometimes it sunny and hot, but most of the time it's dole, but we live in Britain so what can we expect, it sounds lovely where you live all those green fields its better than living in a concrete Gunjle riddled with vermin, I did not Mr Tyndall the Person in the paper whos infront of me all bloodied up, I was a member of the BNP for a very short time, I joined more for my coriousity, I expected a bunch of yobs but was surprised to find a group of dedicated ordinary people who gust wanted to return Britain to a morally and richous country again, but due to the Zionist media they portrade this group as a bunch of rasist yobs, I didn't much care for Diana, being politicly correct all the time borders on the lines of stupidity, Send me a selection of photos. I say this as I feel like I now you well but I can't picture what you look like, I havent got anyone special in my life at the moment no doubt if I had she would have deserted me by now but thats how shallow people can be, ill stop know, write back soon.

   Dave.

I discovered after his trial that 'Mad Bomber' Tony Lecomber had also been at that BNP demo in east London. At the time Copeland met him, Lecomber was one of the BNP's two east-London organisers.

    Only three weeks had passed since Copeland had first written. His relationship with Patsy had blossomed. He seemed to be skipping along the path of romance. He was making my task easy, but I needed him to open up more. I decided to drop him for a few weeks - something I tended to do when my 'penfriends' chose not to talk about their crimes.

    In prison, your cherished lifeline to the outside world is the mail, especially if you're in solitary confinement, unable to make phone calls and not getting many visits. Torment comes when someone special suddenly stops writing. You don't know what's going on: you can't pop round to check and you can't ring up to find out. Some prisoners work themselves into a frenzy as they wait anxiously for the next letter. They become desperate for a renewal of contact - and massively grateful when that special person returns to them. I hoped Copeland would be one of those.

CHAPTER 16

MY LITTLE SOLDIER

    I was surprised when Copeland didn't write. I'd been so sure he'd be desperate to discover the reason for Patsy's silence. I thought perhaps I hadn't excited his fantasies enough. I decided to sexualise Patsy a bit more, though subtly. I had to avoid making her come across as a slut. She had to remain virginally innocent - healthy, fresh and vibrant, waiting for a strong Aryan man to guide her.

    I thought of those propaganda films from Nazi Germany of blonde maidens exercising in fields, stretching their young limbs for Hitler. I imagined such images might appeal to Copeland. I began to develop Patsy as a back-to-the-land type. A real English rose.

    In my next letter, I wrote that she'd just spent a few weeks with her parents on their farm, helping out with the harvest. I imagined Copeland in his solitary cell thinking of Patsy gathering hay on a sunny day in the green fields of England (or possibly Hitler's Germany). I guessed his imagination might supply other 1940s images: soldiers driving past in their lorries waving at the girls, Spitfires (or possibly Messerschmidts) zooming overhead. Then, at the end of the day, the slow drive back to the farmhouse on the back of a tractor, sweating but happy, ready for a warm bath and a good night's sleep in a skimpy nightgown.